


sea of stars

by silvery_sunset



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Adulthood, Coming of Age, Emotional Baggage, Gen, Growing Up, Metaphors, Platonic Relationships, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:40:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26827501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvery_sunset/pseuds/silvery_sunset
Summary: "When doubt comes in, you feel like life's left you to drift away into an unknown sea of possibilities, problems and future worries you don't have the time to think about now. The world is too harsh and overwhelming.You're not alone"From a Miya to another Miya.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Comments: 4
Kudos: 78





	sea of stars

**Author's Note:**

> I took too long to write this fic because I randomly started crying as I wrote it
> 
> This is a love letter to this duo. I am very attached to these boys. Also this takes place in 2016.

Lives unfold under our ignorance at every single second we breathe. A baby's cry on one side of the world is the sweet sound of a droplet of rain from the foliage on the other. Time ticks, the Earth revolves in a cycle of different beginnings and endings. 

Because if one can sum up what life is, in its simplest and purest way, it's the space between various starts and ends that fill inside time and insist on repeating over and over again. 

Inside the miraculous cycle of discoveries of a little human life, a time comes where it must face it, the conscience of time, space, the frenetic flow of the world. A time where, maybe for the first time, said life will feel the Earth's revolution unders its feet, regardless of what physics could say. 

They open their eyes. The world is the same, but its eyes are now opened, vigilant, expecting and anxious for their smallest step outside the illusion of the closeness and safety of the nest. 

The world shakes them, and many like them, too, it pours freezing cold water over their heads, shows its fangs and claws to their newest prey. 

Every human's personal concrete jungle, adulthood it is. 

\--

Osamu’s head is pounding from listening to incoherent gibberish from work all day, he enters his apartment sighing, locking the door and sprawling his entire body on the sofa. His cellphone’s battery died in the middle of his last shift, that one spot in the middle of his shoulder blades is sore again, his eyelids are battling to keep him awake. 

A noise reverberates in his stomach. Empty, aching stomach. The kitchen clock reads 11:27 PM, October 3rd. 

Osamu looks at the pile of dishes to be washed, the glimpse of his bedroom’s open door, welcoming him into the sight of the consequence of neglecting the existence of said room for a whole week now. He can easily shrug it off, sleep the seven, maybe six remaining hours he has and ignore it. 

But his hands are itchy, his shoulders are tense, his mouth is dry and he _needs to feel something today. Anything._

He welcomes the following day’s first minutes with the scent of fried rice and the crackling sound of oil roasting vegetables, he wasn’t up for anything adventurous today anyway. 

Osamu hums the song that plays every single day in the building’s elevator when he goes 5 floors down and 17 kilometers straight, left, left, right and right again in the rotatory into what he called the start of his dream.

And the bane of his existence. 

He’s 19, washing dishes at 1 AM to the sound of elevator background music, he’s been working in three different restaurants on different days of the week because the world is a cruel place for a young inexperienced entrepreneur and initial and working capital money are a thing, unfortunately. 

At the sight of the not purposely minimalistic aesthetic of his lonely apartment in Osaka, Osamu finishes the dishes, decides to clean up his room for once, splash some water on his own face, and sleep. 

His phone’s charging now and like every single ignorant human being on earth, of course he pulls it from the nightstand while plugged, of course he winces at the initial brightness of the screen and of course, he tells himself he’ll regret it later when the ungodly hours of the night scream and beg him to sleep. 

He places his fingers on the spot to ignore all notifications when three texts pop up on the screen from the same contact. Upon reading the first, realization sinks into the pit of his stomach like a full course carbs based meal prepared by an enthusiastic Italian grandma.

_Samu i’m coming over for my birthday_  
_mom said to sleep at ur place_  
_i want curry for lunch_

The first thing that came to his finger to reply was to mention how Atsumu's messed up sleeping schedule would make their high school coach scold him for at least 20 minutes and he’d earn a freezing Kita-san glare. The second thing was to clarify that they are freaking twins, so it was his birthday too but...

_ya sleeping on the sofa_

Osamu eyed the date on the notification bar. It's October 4th, 1:45 AM. He turns the phone off, ignoring Atsumu's angry replies to his texts and lets sleep carry him into the first hours of his last day before the official adulthood starts.

\--

_“Now listen to me”_

_“Ya got the makings of greatness in ya”_

The words of their grandmother were sweet, a little raspy, and carried a weight he never really understood. 

Two years after passing away, she's with Osamu again inside the kitchen of the house he grew up in Hyougo, molding rice balls in her skillful hands with a small smile on her face. 

He has no voice. Stuck in his 19 year-old body, his voice is gone, or is his fear. Frozen in place, Osamu wants to reach her. Just like he did, in one of their last days together. 

Osamu listens to the song she hums as she carefully places the nori on the rice balls and deposits the onigiri on the tray. He knows they taste like tuna, umeboshi and home. The taste is almost tangible in his mouth. 

His chest tightens when he notices a small stepping stool was placed beside her, with spaceship stickers decorating the bottom. It was dark blue and he didn't have any stars left, he remembers. But he wished he could try constellations if he had. 

Osamu turns his head around, the sight of the kitchen is blurred to a place he can't quite name. On the fridge, stuck by magnets, a doodle of two foxes and what was supposed to be a shrine was proudly fixed in the middle of the steel door. He doesn't need to read the name in scribbled kanji to know. 

The song his grandmother was humming becomes more and more like a ring. Osamu flinches in his place. She gives him a look before fading into the image of his bedroom's white ceiling along with an obnoxious ringing. 

He sighs, staring at the alarm of the cellphone he swears he had turned off before. It's 6 AM, he wants to crawl back into slumber and feel the warming embrace of his grandmother in his dream, to tell her he misses the time when she used to tell them the story of Inari and her naughty fox spirits. 

Makings of greatness, she said. To both of them. Lying on a hospital bed, taking his hand and Atsumu's in hers, she smiled just like when she cooked, when she opened the door to her house to welcome her little grandkids in. 

"I'm sorry granny" Osamu whispered to his own reflection in the mirror. "Guess there's no greatness left for me." 

The world is displayed with a gray colored filter in his eyes, whispering words he doesn't want to hear, lying, constantly slapping his supposed youthful will out of him. 

Inertia, he thinks, he names it. Inertia makes the world go round, the people move, the unstoppable force that pulls him out of bed and pushes him back into it day after day, during 24 hours, 30 days a month. 

He doesn't want to complain. He's weak, defenseless in the middle of a concrete jungle whose predators devour him from the inside, draining all color and gleam from the reality he once knew as a kid who loved the orange and blue of a volleyball court and sting of a ball against his hand. 

Flashing before his eyes every now and then during the year, his mirrored image stares at him, with hazel colored eyes that glint in hunger into his gray irises.

Once he'd promised these eyes that when they were in their deathbeds, he'd have the happiest life. 

The sight of it lies far away from where he can see it.  
\--

Atsumu likes the night. His thoughts are calmer, the weather is at the perfect chilly autumn-like temperature he likes, the best shows are on TV and, of course, there's silence. 

The most precious part of his day is the moment silence rocks him slowly into letting all the tension out, a relaxing massage that lets it all settle down. 

Tonight is not one of these nights and silence decides to never be reached. The clock's tic tac, the friction of his body against the bedsheets, a stray cat hissing, a chaotic cacophony plays on repeat in his ears. 

Atsumu looks at his cellphone, it's 2 am, October 4th. 

A message his mother had sent him weeks ago makes its way into his eyes in a flash.

Tomorrow, he'll be 20 years old, no longer staring at a wooden bed frame that brought a warm safety in his heart before slumber gets to his eyes. He's an adult. 

And like the mature adult he is, Atsumu sends a text to the other future adult he knows. Osamu replies. Atsumu frowns, fingers tapping the send button several times to complain only to be ignored. He sighs when his strength can no longer fight the weight of his eyelids. 

He's not angry about sleeping on the sofa. Atsumu dreams about something he will forget soon, except for a slurred sentence, in his own voice, literally drowned by the sea of stars he sailed into inside Dreamland.

_Is 'Samu happier?_

Miya Atsumu is 19 years old and saw the world of his dreams crumble beneath his feet for the second time in his life. 

Volleyball is a dream so close to his hands he could barely register when it shoved him away and threw him back to the starting line. In a wrong turn of the Earth, he was sent back to middle school, to practicing alone, figuring out how to serve, how to set, how to get his teammates to stop scoffing and rolling their eyes whenever he passed around. 

In the MSBY Black Jackals gym, Atsumu was a baby amidst veterans, a presumptuous, egotistical, selfish baby who would've to prove his use to them. It was right. He was tough and, most importantly, he was good. 

It wasn't enough. Not enough for being a regular in his first months, not enough for being seen as more than the overly excited and arrogant newcomer to his team, not enough to wear the colors of his country on the stage on the other side of the world, showcasing his magic for millions of eyes to watch. 

_Damn you, Tobio-kun._

It's a slap to the face. A roundhouse kick to be really honest, and he knew what these felt like. Throwing himself in bed, Atsumu stared at his reflection on the TV screen, cheek squished against the pillow, and blew his fresh from the shower fringe away from his face

The reflection's hair was gray and had cloudy eyes that shined in silver when he was excited. It was the face he instinctively looked for in the gym, ready to throw a bottle of water at his head. The face he wished to have by his side, that made his the strongest he could ever be. 

Atsumu was not enough. Osamu left, leaped into the air and started flying his own heights, and so did Atsumu, or at least had he said so. 

Osamu's always there, his biggest blessing, his counterpart. He turns to the other side, back facing the TV. 

Atsumu's heart clenches in his ribcage, he curls into a small ball in his bed. It's scary. He doesn't want to be alone. He doesn't want Osamu to leave. 

He wishes he was enough. 

It's 4 am, says the screen of his cellphone. Even Suna's all nighter tendencies would be weakened now. Atsumu's grip on his phone tightens. His head is so noisy it blurs the vision around him along with sleep. 

Pressing a contact in the texts app, he types a message, begs for someone out there to smile at his fortune and presses send. 

The reply comes early in the morning with a desperate phone call. Atsumu breathes in deeply, holds the air in for eight seconds and lets it out. 

"How yer doin', Aran-kun?"

\--

"Ya told Osamu ya were coming for lunch, why are we here?" Aran kicked a small rock in the sidewalk towards the grass, raising an eyebrow to Atsumu, who had his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket, eyes on the rock, then the grass, then the sidewalk again. 

The square was empty around noon, the faint noise of the wind and their footsteps were the only thing to be heard in the streets of the neighborhood near Aran's place. 

Atsumu keeps quiet for most of the walk from the apartment to the square unless Aran tries to catch up, visibly confused, while Atsumu's gazing at the floor. Maybe calling Aran wasn't a good idea. Maybe he shouldn't have thought of talking his head out. He should've stayed home. 

Atsumu's throat was dry, he bit his lower lip hard enough to taste the iron flavor of blood in his tongue. Ragged breath fogged his own thoughts, forcing his head to stay low. 

He wants to cry. 

"Aran-kun" he stopped walking. Atsumu felt a hand grip softly on his shoulder, urging him to turn around. He did, raising his head to meet the eyes of the upperclassman he's been admiring all his life. 

"I-is 'Samu better without me?" 

Tears stream down his eyes slowly, blurring the sight of Aran's confused face in front of him. Atsumu turned around again to rub it away with his sleeve but Aran's hand squeezed his shoulder. Hard. 

"Atsumu, yer an idiot." Aran chuckled lightly.  
"Listen to yerself, come on." 

Atsumu pouted and looked away, eyes puffy and red, still fixated on the floor. Aran rolled his eyes, pulling him closer, against his chest, making Atsumu let out a squeak. 

"You two. Yer the best thing that could happen to each other. Osamu ain't better without ya, yer not better without him. Separating is growing, learning, and ya can only do this because ya have each other."

Aran is right. There's no one else that could tell him that except for him, Atsumu wants to believe him with all his might and it's too on the nose. Still, tears keep running down, he still wants to disappear from the world for a while, go back to being a 10 year-old who found a tube of pudding on his desk after a harsh day at practice. 

Atsumu, Atsumu, Atsumu, it's always about himself. 

"Ya think 'Samu wasn't happy playin in high school?" Atsumu buried his face on Aran's shoulder. "Ya think I forced him into it?"

It's been in his mind since Osamu told him for the first time. Osamu's honest, too much for his liking at times. He's unreadable and hard to figure out but incredibly obvious at the same time, cries over the dumbest things, laughs at horror movies. He's hard headed, a big hearted idiot in constant denial, but only for Atsumu. 

He has a heart too big for a brother that never deserved it.

Aran gently pulled him away to smile at Atsumu, a hand ruffling his hair. "Both of us know Osamu ain't the type to do anything he doesn't want to." 

He knows. Osamu would kick him for even thinking about it, for daring to think of himself once again instead of his brother. Atsumu smiles to no one, looking up to the clear sky, windy, just the way he liked it. 

"Ya he's stubborn like a door." He giggles, swallowing a last hiccup in. 

"Just like a certain someone I know." Aran snorted, patting Atsumu's shoulder. 

"Hey!"

They walk a little more inside the square and Atsumu's questions still weigh in his head, they always do, hidden in the deepest depths, exploding into anger and silent tears inside a bedroom only to disappear again and come back in a cycle. He can't lie to himself, being 20 sucks, the world is harsh and doubt continues to grow inside his head. 

Still, he has Osamu. His biggest blessing, his butter hearted idiot, his twin. 

Osamu is family. Osamu is home. 

"Yer late for yer lunch. Dontcha leave yer brother waitin!" Aran checks his watch, getting up from the seat they were resting on. 

"He's texted me sayin' he'd be busy. I'm goin' later." 

"Hurry up, already." He laughed. 

"Bye-bye, Aran-kun" Atsumu blew him a kiss, making Aran roll his eyes and sigh before waving him goodbye. 

Atsumu shoved a few clothes in a backpack, double checked Osamu's texts and told him he'd come by night. 

He didn't expect the immediate reply, neither the smile he didn't even try to bite back before shoving the phone inside his pocket and getting in the bathroom to shower.

_Ya still want curry?_

Atsumu misses home. 

\--

Osamu shifts his weight on his feet. His eyes wander around the sight in front of him. A doorbell to a small house inside a rice farm, hidden in his city's country roads. 

His hands are sweating a little and he thinks he may throw all his lunch up if this dread keeps rising. Who does he think he is? Suna? 

He presses the door bell, giving himself 30 seconds to wait until he gives up and goes back home hoping he wasn't seen becaude this is a bad idea, actually he should be going home right now. 

The wooden door creaks open.

"Osamu?" 

"Good afternoon, Kita-san." Osamu might as well die at the bay. 

Kita blinked before making room for Osamu to enter the house and stare at him while he took off his shoes. 

The house wasn't silent. Birds chirping on the outside and a small record player playing a waltz Osamu could recognize vaguely. Clean and neat, Kita's brand was all over the place. 

Kita brought two cups and a steaming kettle, the noise of the tea falling into the cups would be relaxing at any situation, but right now, Osamu felt as if his life was on the line. 

He kneeled down to the table, so did Kita, who brought the cup to his mouth, taking a sip before breaking the silence. 

"What brings ya here?" No sarcasm, laugh, not at all. 

Osamu burned his tongue trying to drink half of the teacup all at once. Chamomile, a nice choice. 

"Sorry for comin' without warning ya, Kita-san, I apologise." 

"I've told ya before, there ain't no problem, if I'm not home you'll probably know." 

"'course but it's good to warm ya about comin' here what if ya were busy with something"

"Ya dodging the question, Osamu." 

Osamu's tongue throbbed with the new dose of scalding hot water pouring inside his throat. He turns his head to the window. The sun is starting to set, Atsumu hasn't come over yet, he still has time to prepare something. 

"Kita-san, ya ever felt like yer doin whatcha want, but it's not actually like that and maybe ya got it all wrong and took a leap bigger than yer legs and all?" 

Kita's eyes widened a bit at the question before carefully scanning Osamu's frame. His lips pressed into a thin line. 

"Osamu, is this really about ya?" 

He didn't dare to look back at Kita, preferring to admire the beautiful wood work on the frames of the window. 

"Is it?" Kita repeated. 

"No. Not exactly"

Kita stood up and walked to the window frame that supposedly called Osamu's attention, opening the blackout curtains to reveal the view behind it. The sun set behind the fields of rice in gold and orange, announcing that the day was coming to an end. 

"Doubt rises in every day." He started, nodding his head towards the window. Osamu followed Kita, wincing a bit at the sunlight. "Ya never know what comes after. Planning yer steps, building a routine, it's all important to make yerself feel safer, but in the end, we don't know."

"Change comes too fast. It's like, like I'm in the middle of the sea, ya know? But yer not alone. And ya recognized it.

"We're always being watched, Osamu, even when we seem lost in the middle of the jungle, even when everything seems like it's crumbling down." Kita's golden eyes were warm and familiar when turning to him. "I guess we both know who's watching ya." 

_Ya got the makings of greatness in ya._

"Yeah." Osamu answered, back to looking at the sun, the stars in the farm seemed sprinkled in the blue sky, white like sea foam

"Go meet Atsumu already." Kita chuckled. 

Atsumu will never leave him alone. It's true. 

"I will! Thank you, Kita-san!"

Osamu misses him.

"See ya tomorrow, send greetings to yer mom for me." Kita said before greeting him goodbye and going back inside the cutest haunted house Osamu would ever see. 

\--

There's not much to say when people ask about his professional athlete twin brother. He's annoying, noisy, a jerk at every meaning of the world and he'd not hesitate to ship him away at any moment he could. 

He's the only one Osamu has, truly, for the rest of his life. It's what he hopes, deep in his heart. 

In the back of his mind, Atsumu reflects his name, that came from the woman who told them they were destined to take on the world together, their own worlds. 

_Urge to devour,_ says the kanji in his name, the shine in Atsumu's eyes. Curiosity drives his dumb brother further, determination pushes him into diving head deep into the unknown realms of a world he cannot see nor feel. 

Atsumu knows his limits, he just doesn't care. 

The world is a sea of constellations, stars that dance over a dark blue painting of millions and millions of possibilities unraveling right there, right now. 

If the Earth shakes Miya Atsumu, he laughs on its face, rocking along to its rhythm, dancing to its tune. And he's followed by eyes as hungry as his, clawing to the surface to stay in place. Like instruments in an orchestra, Atsumu conducts them. 

His spikers make music. Magic. Their setter knows when to push and release the marionette threads tied to his hand by occupational design, and every move is a thrill. 

And he inhales it whole, craving for more before he can barely finish it. 

Osamu laughs on his face, what a fool he is, insatiable, hungry. Will he ever be satisfied?

Is he any different? Mindlessly switching from shift to shift, muscle memory guiding him through recipes, orders, ways inside kitchens, or talks to coworkers. 

At least Atsumu knows what he chases, he's always known, from volleyball to a favorite TV show. 

Osamu's been a follower all his life. He can't go back. The right path awaits for him and he'll know when he's found it, when his own eyes gleam with silver and thirst for more of the feeling he's only ever had a taste of. 

To rule, reign, govern. The old fashioned name that fits his twin's just right, a pretty kanji that took him way too much time to learn to write. 

Way too much time to know what it fully means. 

His chase is yet to be found, the exact reason why he fights in his own terms will appear, and he knows. Atsumu's is found in the court that is his orchestra, Osamu's inside the kitchen, where lies his stage. 

He's lost in a gray world of gibberish and mumbling. Osamu hunts the way out every time he wakes up. 

He was born following his older brother. 

It's his turn to do himself justice and rule his own life. 

\--

Although his twin denied it to his grave, Atsumu has always thought that the few minutes that separated them when entering the world made a difference. 

Atsumu's always wanted to be the tougher one, harsh and blunt all the way through school, arrogant, building a hard exterior to become harsher. Osamu on the other way, followed along and played by his rules, contested them, defied him. 

But unlike Atsumu, he's always been kinder. Sweeter. Unaware of how much he does and means to him, Osamu's heart is his best trait. Not that Atsumu would ever tell him that. 

His kindness of heart resides in staying by Atsumu's side, even after figuring out his own path. It is to share the joy and happiness volleyball brought to Atsumu, even if it wasn't exactly what he wanted. To never make him feel like he's alone. 

Their grandmother once told them in her deathbed that they were destined to be great. Atsumu looks at the window of the train he's hopped in to run all the way back from Kyoto, watching the stars. 

"Hey, granny, can ya hear me?" He whispers to a star. "Keep it a secret, okay?" 

"To me, Samu's always been the greatest."

\--

Bumping into each other on their way to Osamu's apartment is weird. It's been almost a whole month since they barely talk and three since they haven't met. 

Atsumu slams Osamu's side, snatching the keys from his hand and racing the stairway to his floor. Osamu yells at him and races behind Atsumu, complaining about what the landlord would say. 

"I won!" Atsumu smirks, throwing the keys back at Osamu and entering the apartment. The dishes are washed, the bedroom is clean and the house smells like rice, cologne and the fabric softener their mother uses on the bedsheets. 

"Ya really had to do that? At this late at night?" Osamu panted, locking the door. 

Atsumu threw his backpack on the sofa, finally talking in the sight of his mirror image arching his brows at him, hands on his waist. His eyes away to the kitchen clock. "Can we see the stars? The sky's pretty neat today!" 

"Huh?" Osamu was pulled by the wrist to the bedroom and the door that led to the small balcony. "Ya haven't even said anything to me what are ya doing?" 

His words are gone when Atsumu's laugh fills the air while he leans against the guardrail. The sky is not like Kita's farm, but it's theirs. 

Atsumu sails into a sea of stars he can't touch and surfs into comets at lightspeed, dynamic, frenetic, and he's always followed along. 

Osamu leans by his side, touching his shoulders covered by a red hoodie.

"Hey, 'Samu." 

"What, 'Tsumu?" 

"D'ya remember what granny told us that time?" 

"Ya got the makings of greatness in ya" Osamu smiled. 

"But ya gotta take the helm and charge yer own course." Atsumu continued, the light of autumn moon illuminating their eyes, reflecting the stars in them, along with that hungry glint. 

"Stick to it, no matter the squals." 

Her words echo in that sky, in their heads and in the paths they've taken for themselves. Maybe she was right after all. 

_And when the time comes and ya get the chance to really test the cut of yer sails and show what yer made of…_

Atsumu's cellphone rings, it's October 5th, midnight. 

"Happy birthday" Osamu punched his twin's arm. 

"Ya still gotta wait 4 minutes before I say it back." Atsumu grinned. "I'm a grown-up now, toddler."

"Oh, shut up, 'Tsumu." Osamu's laugh is interrupted by arms embracing his frame, he hugs Atsumu back. 

The phone rings again. 

"Happy birthday, 'Samu"

_I hope I'm there with ya, catchin some of the light comin off ya that day_

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I am a nerd Granny's quote is from Treasure Planet underrated gem of steampunk sci-fi animation and I love it


End file.
